


Auburn Absinthe

by essomenic



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police & Yakuza, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Humor, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, M/M, Murder Mystery, Temporary Amnesia, Tissue Warning, police officer youngjae
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essomenic/pseuds/essomenic
Summary: There's a fine line separating the murky waters of memory and oblivion and Jung Daehyun has a hard time distinguishing between the two.In which Youngjae is a police officer that seems to know a bit too much about Daehyun.





	Auburn Absinthe

**Author's Note:**

> this really is just an excuse for me to write daejae i'm sorry.  
> oh but side note! i used to write mystery/horror novels all the time when i was younger and i'm trying to get back into it. i absolutely would not allow myself to make this depressing, tho, so expect lots of humor and less angst. however, as this is a different genre, it will get quite detailed, specifically with violence. if that bothers you (or if any of the tags do) please don't force yourself! i'd hate to have people hate me lol  
> with that, enjoy this HIGHLY UNEDITED rough draft. this quarter is ending soon so i will have a short break to write more but i'm too lazy to edit anything right now ahaha.  
> please enjoy! comments + kudos appreciated <3

 

 

It’s whilst sitting in the middle of Canada’s finest police department that Daehyun realizes two things:  change is never a good thing and he never wants to wear a fucking bathrobe ever again.

 

Well, amongst other things, of course.

 

“I’ve already _explained_ this.” He rubs his temples in frustration, shooting a glare over his coffee cup. It’s cold by now and he tries not to let this add to his irritation. The officer blinks through his spectacles. He looks lost for words and somehow that’s exactly what Daehyun expected.

 

“Yes, but if you would just try to think a little harder,” the officer prompts.  

 

“ _Harder_?”

 

The officer nods. Daehyun chokes on a scoff and the breath mint he half forgot was even in his mouth. He slams his palms against the desk, disturbing a couple sheets of paperwork in the process. “I’ve thought too much to even think coherently anymore,” he spits as the sheets flutter to the floor. The officer, Kim something or other, narrows his eyes.

 

“Sir, I’ll have to put you in Holding if you can’t control yourself,” he warns with an icy stare.

 

This pulls a perturbed groan from Daehyun. He leans back in the hard plastic of the yellow chair and folds his arms across his chest with a huff. It’s all easier said than done. Daehyun has no recollection of the past eleven hours; it would be weirder for him _not_ to be hysterical.

 

“Do you have any suggestions on what I’m supposed to do, then?” Daehyun surrenders. “Why am I being charged for something I don’t even remember doing?”

 

Mr. Kim straightens the papers Daehyun moved with his outburst. “Regardless of whether you remember or not, you were still on private property armed with unregistered firearms. You could’ve gotten killed. Or worse — killed someone _else_.”

 

Daehyun ignores this in favor of picking at his bathrobe. Well, it’s not _his_ bathrobe. He’s not sure where it came from or what that awful smell permeating his nostrils is, but he’s otherwise naked so he figures he has no right to complain. Instead, he pouts.

 

Mr. Kim gives him a sideways glance. “Stop looking at me like that.”

 

"Looking at you like what?" Daehyun smiles innocently, leaning against the desk with his chin in his hands and his elbows on Mr. Kim's paperwork.

 

"Like you're going to get something from me."

 

“Stop being so _mean_ , hyung.”

 

“You’re the one who got yourself into this mess in the first place.”

 

“But I _didn’t_!”

 

Mr. Kim lets out a puff of air. He looks tired; the light grey shadow of dark rings circle his eyes, his face is sunken and dull looking, and he keeps staring at the clock as if it’s going to suddenly make Daehyun disappear.

 

Daehyun sinks further into his chair.

 

“I just want to go home,” he mumbles. He sounds like a petulant child and _feels_ like one when Mr. Kim looks over at him sympathetically.

 

“Where do you live?” He inquires. Daehyun raises an eyebrow.

 

“I was _supposed_ to be visiting my parents. They live in the next town over.”

 

Mr. Kim hums in acknowledgment. He doesn’t offer any other form of response so Daehyun sits stiffly and continues awaiting the chief of police. They’ve been waiting for almost an hour for the man but to no avail. Daehyun understands there are more demanding tasks at hand, probably more impending legal situations, but this is to the point of ridiculousness. He bounces his leg absentmindedly, the heel of his slippered foot tapping against the cold tile quietly. There are bruises all over his legs and some even on his arms, the bottom of his feet decorated with bloody cuts and scratches. Thankfully, they’ve already been bandaged up at the hospital. No one’s bothered to give him some decent fucking clothing in this hick town, though.

 

He doesn’t have the energy to be doing this right now.

 

“When is he going to decide to show up?” Daehyun barks in irritation. Mr. Kim looks up from his computer to shoot an unimpressed look over the monitor.

 

“He’s a busy man,” is all he offers. Daehyun slumps in his seat.

 

It’s then that a door opens. It’s an inconspicuous entrance. It’s placed off to the left of the room in such a way that Daehyun doesn’t even notice it until it swings open and someone comes barreling out of it.

 

“What is it _now_ , Himchan?” The man, dressed in the only thing Daehyun can assume is a police chief’s uniform, bellows with distinct articulation as the door slams shut behind him. He makes his way to Mr. Kim’s desk and stops only to give the man behind the computer a blasé look. Mr. Kim smiles sheepishly.

 

“I told you; you can address this any time,” he begins, but the impatient man holds a hand up to stop him.

 

“Just tell me what it is. I have more important things to be doing.”

 

Daehyun scoffs under his breath. The guy sounds like a total dick.

 

“This man — er, Jung Daehyun,” Mr. Kim motions to Daehyun, still seated in his plastic chair like a criminal, “was found in the woods by a couple hunters. He was unconscious and mildly injured. It seems he doesn’t remember anything that happened.”

 

The police chief turns to Daehyun with a quirked eyebrow, the light reflecting on his dark hair magnificently. He doesn’t look that old, actually. The only thing that seems to age him is the scowl disfiguring his face. He looks Daehyun up and down. Daehyun squirms under his gaze.

 

“What the hell are you wearing?”

 

How pleasant.

 

Daehyun fumbles with his words, taken aback. “I...they’re not mine. I-I don’t know whose they are,” he admits, his cheeks flushing. He looks down at his bandaged feet with the tips of his ears turning pink.

 

It’s the last thing Daehyun expects for the man to laugh. To be honest, he kind of expected the man to react the way Mr. Kim had: with hostility, sympathy, whatever it was Mr. Kim had displayed. But instead, the man _laughs_ , and he laughs to the point of doubling over and repeatedly slapping his palm against Mr. Kim’s papers, once again disrupting them. Daehyun watches in horror.

 

“I’m sorry,” the man, regaining control again, apologizes with absolutely no sincerity. “It’s just — what did he say your name is?”

 

Daehyun frowns. “Jung Daehyun.”

 

“I thought so,” he murmurs quietly, as if to himself.

 

“What do you propose we do with him, Mr. Yoo?” Mr. Kim asks now. The chief strolls around the desk to stand by Mr. Kim’s side. He places his hand on his chin in thought. His face is considerably softer than it was just a moment ago and Daehyun chalks this up to whatever’s on Mr. Kim’s screen. Daehyun takes this moment of silence to observe him. He has smooth skin and rather large hands. He doesn’t look much taller than Daehyun, but something about him seems more mature. Maybe it’s because of his job title, Daehyun thinks. He’s just taking note of the man’s nicely shaped eyes when said eyes are turning to him and Daehyun’s heartbeat is suddenly in his throat. He looks away quickly. If the man notices, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he smiles and somewhere far off an alarm sounds in Daehyun’s head.

 

“Visiting your parents?” The chief asks.

 

Daehyun nods.

 

“On forty-eighth and Elm?”

 

Another nod.

 

“In a yellow house at the edge of town? Right across the train tracks?”

 

Daehyun makes a small noise of surprise and the chief chuckles at this.

 

“How’d you know? Does my record say all that?” He asks in disbelief. He looks between the chief and Mr. Kim, who only blinks once and continues typing. The chief, on the other hand, leans forward with a cryptic expression.

 

“Nice to see you again, Daehyun.”

 

Daehyun watches in disbelief as the man’s expression does a complete one-eighty and something flip-flops in his stomach at the sight. He grins at Daehyun expectantly. Daehyun just stares back in bewilderment.

 

“Hello...?”

 

The chief guffaws. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all about me! Yoo Youngjae? Your neighbor and first love?”

 

Mr. Kim looks up from his computer. “I thought I was your first love,” he deadpans. This earns him a slap over the head.

 

“Keep your disgusting wet dreams at bay while at work, please,” Youngjae chastises. Then he’s turning his full attention to Daehyun again and suddenly the clock on the adjacent wall is extremely interesting. Daehyun can feel the intensity of the other man’s stare. His eyes practically burn holes into Daehyun, leaving his skin hot and itchy. He doesn’t dare look back.

 

“I don’t remember, sorry,” he admits softly. He sees Youngjae stand up to his full height in his peripheral.

 

“You’ll remember in due time,” he says with a mysterious smile playing with the ends of his lips. “But before that, we have to figure all this out. Where are you going to stay in the meantime?”

 

Daehyun shrugs. “I was going to stay at my parents’ place.”

 

Youngjae makes a disgruntled sound with a shake of his head. “That won’t do. It’s too long of a drive from the station. Do you have money for a hotel?”

 

Daehyun and Youngjae both simultaneously glance at the rosy bathrobe hugging the former’s lean frame.

 

“Never mind, then.” A laugh. “This won’t do.”

 

“He could stay at the homeless shelter,” Mr. Kim supplies helpfully. Youngjae gasps.

 

“My bosom friend? At a _homeless shelter_? I think not.”

 

Mr. Kim rolls his eyes. “ _You_ figure it out, then. This wasn’t even supposed to be my case.”

 

“Okay,” Youngjae clasps his hands together like a kindergarten teacher. “You can just stay with me!”

 

Daehyun’s mouth goes dry. His tongue peeps out between his chapped lips to wet them. “This is a joke, right?”

 

Mr. Kim sighs dramatically. “If only it was.”

 

“That isn’t even legal,” Daehyun insists. “I don’t even know you.”

 

But Youngjae is smiling wide. He’s smiling so, so wide that it scares Daehyun. Who the fuck is this guy? And who does he think he is?

 

“Don’t worry,” Youngjae leans forward with a hand on the desk. His sleeves are rolled up to his biceps and the veins on his arms bulge slightly with the movement. Daehyun gulps, staring anywhere but at them. “I have no absolutely no interest in you.”

 

Daehyun’s mouth falls open. He feels his face heat immediately. Mr. Kim looks up from his computer, glancing at Daehyun with an amused expression.

 

“Don’t disappoint the boy,” he sneers. “He could’ve been looking forward to this.”

 

Mr. Kim proceeds to continue typing at — well, whatever it is he’s typing, and Daehyun sits in silence, flabbergasted, soaking up the amused laughter that falls from Youngjae’s lips like poison. He has the strongest urge to stand up and throw Mr. Kim’s computer monitor at the both of them. But he doesn’t, of course, so all Daehyun can do is wait for the two men to finish mocking him.

 

God, his face is on fire right now.

 

“Sorry to be blunt,” Youngjae, once he's calmed down again, apologizes with even less sincerity than the last time. “Just wanted to get my point across.” His eyes twinkle, as cheesey as that sounds.

 

Daehyun narrows his eyes. “You’ve made that point very clear.”

 

“He’s kind of an asshole,” Mr. Kim interjects intelligently. Youngjae kicks his swivel chair and it pushes Mr. Kim nearly into the wall. Thankfully, he anticipated the attack and latched his fingers onto the edge of the desk. He sends a scathing look in Youngjae’s direction. “ _Excuse_ you. Is that any way to treat an elder?”

 

“Formalities,” Youngjae waves this off with a hand. Then those pretty eyes drift off to the clock on the wall and he sighs irritably. “Fuck, I’ve got way too much to do today.” Then, as an afterthought, “Dae, wait here. I’ll bring you home in about an hour so you can put on some proper clothing.”

 

Youngjae makes to leave, turning on his heel. Daehyun stands up to object. “B-but I haven’t agreed to anything...”

 

The chief looks back at Daehyun over his shoulder with a smirk gracing his features. He throws a wink in the robed boy’s direction, sending a flurry of emotions rippling through the confused amnesiac.

 

“An hour,” Youngjae affirms. “Don’t wander off.”

 

And then he’s disappeared back through that same door. It shuts with a soft thud strikingly similar to the thudding in Daehyun’s chest. He turns to Mr. Kim, wide-eyed.

 

“What the fuck was that?”

 

“That,” Mr. Kim says with an aggressive keyboard flourish on the _enter_ key, “was Yoo Youngjae. And this, I suppose, is where your life progressively goes downhill for unknown reasons until, eventually, you realize you love this man and then you both either die or live happily ever after. Oh, and I’m like ninety percent sure he was kidding about the attraction thing just to mess with you. So don’t lose sleep worrying over it.” A yawn. “You’re welcome.”

 

Then Mr. Kim goes back to typing. Daehyun looks down at his stupid bathrobe. An hour, huh? What could happen in an hour?

 

_Just what the fuck happened in the last eleven?_

 

 

+

 

 

True to his word, this Yoo Youngjae fellow finds Daehyun in the bathroom around an hour later. Daehyun’s in the middle of taking a shit, which isn’t exactly the classiest or put together he’s been, but he’s been waiting around for this stupid dickhead for an accumulative five hours in total and the burrito he stuffed down his throat earlier isn’t settling well in his stomach. So at this point, Daehyun doesn’t really care what this weird cop wants with him; he just wants to take a goddamn shit in peace.

 

“Who died in here?” Youngjae reveals himself following the creaking of the door. “Dae, you still alive, buddy? How can you breathe?”

 

Daehyun sighs. “Obviously I’m not very much alive if this came out of me.”

 

Youngjae starts to laugh but is overcome with a coughing fit. Daehyun just sits inside the stall and wishes the toilet would suck the life-force out of him as he flushes it. He’d planned on spending a couple more minutes in there to gather his thoughts and plan a way to tell this dude he doesn’t need a place to stay, but that’s very obviously not going to happen. Plus, he kind of _doesn't_ have a place to stay. Daehyun's never been very good at lying.

 

Youngjae’s leaning against the wall with a hand pinching the bridge of his nose when Daehyun exits the stall. “I’d ask if you were okay if my eyeballs weren’t burning right now,” he comments, voice all nasal and little diction.

 

“I don’t believe we are close enough for that.”

 

Youngjae tsk tsk’s and watches intently as Daehyun washes his hands. Then, a few hand-soap pumps and scrubs later, “Are you scared about the test results?”

 

Daehyun looks at the other man through the mirror. “Why? Should I be?”

 

Youngjae scratches the back of his neck awkwardly as Daehyun dries his hands with a paper towel.

 

“I don’t know. Can’t really think without being able to properly breathe.” He chuckles weakly, but Daehyun sees right through his gimmick. He swallows, the saliva trickling down his throat uncomfortably. He has temporary amnesia; anything could’ve happened while he was unconscious.

 

Daehyun ignores the ominous implications. “I trust the doctors there. I trust they’ll tell me the truth, no matter what it is.”

 

With that, Daehyun turns to face the chief. Youngjae looks back. _Smiles_.

 

“Shall we go?” Youngjae asks but it isn’t really a question. He slings an arm around Daehyun and Daehyun, in turn, tries his best not to squeak at the contact.

 

“I fail to remember when exactly I agreed to this?” He raises an eyebrow. Youngjae coos.

 

“You sound all smart and shit,” he giggles. As in, _actually_ giggles. “But you can’t remember a lot of things at the moment.”

 

Daehyun thinks that’s probably fair, but that’s no reason to let this stranger treat him so preposterously. Quite frankly, he can’t really remember a Yoo Youngjae save the hazy memory he locked in a case and buried deep within his mind. He hasn’t thought about it much yet, but he definitely does not remember Youngjae looking like that. Yoo Youngjae of twelve years ago had braces and an obsession with _Power Rangers_. Yoo Youngjae of twelve years ago definitely didn’t have sparkly eyes or hair straight from a shampoo commercial.

 

Of course, Daehyun doesn’t say any of this, though. Daehyun subjects himself to being dragged out of the bathroom and into the ugliest van he’s ever seen. The thing could seriously rival a child abductor’s but Daehyun somehow finds himself sitting in the passenger seat with his supposed childhood bosom friend violently belting the lyrics to _Selena Gomez and the Scene_ as they drive through a neighborhood that could very well be a cemetery.

 

Why? Daehyun has no idea.

 

“How come you moved away back then?” Youngjae inquires, momentarily turning "Love You like a Love Song" to a low enough frequency to hear the heater cranking loudly in the background. They’ve been on the road for a while. The small town zooms past in streaks akin to messy brushstrokes.

 

Daehyun blinks. “I didn’t.”

 

“Of course you did,” Youngjae pushes, turning his eyes from the road to glance at Daehyun. “You fell off the face of the earth right after fifth grade.” There’s a confused smile on his face and Daehyun briefly wonders if he’s always smiling. It doesn’t seem like a very _Youngjae_ thing to do.

 

“You’re very observant,” Daehyun says instead of answering. Youngjae just nods.

 

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of my job.”

 

Nothing more is said until they’re pulling off a barely paved road and into the driveway of an off-green bungalow siding on unkempt. Overgrown bushes and grass line the sidewalk leading to the front door and there’s a tire swing in an old maple tree off to the left. Daehyun’s eyes glide over the scene. Youngjae kills the engine and they sit in a beat of silence as Youngjae observes and Daehyun judges.

 

“Is this your parents’ house?” Daehyun finds himself asking. Youngjae’s in the process of opening the driver’s door but he turns to look back at Daehyun with a shake of the head.

 

“Nah, this is my place. Technically speaking it’s my wife’s, but she’s out of town right now,” Youngjae explains, shutting his door with a thud. Daehyun quickly follows suit and does the same.

 

“You have a wife?” He speed walks to catch up with Youngjae, who’s a few paces ahead with a lanyard swinging around his pointer finger. As they reach the porch, Youngjae laughs.

 

“Of course I do. Don’t wanna be an old maid, right?”

 

Daehyun doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t bother trying to come up with anything. Youngjae swings the door open without unlocking it first (“this is a nice neighborhood”). The light from outside filters into the dark house, revealing a path through a narrow hallway ending with a staircase. It’s here Youngjae kicks his boots off.

 

“Make yourself at home,” Youngjae offers generously. Daehyun doesn’t mention the fact that he legitimately does not want to be here at all. Instead, he nods and slips out of his slippers. Youngjae leads him to a parlor through an archway on their right. “Wait here and I’ll get you some clothes.”

 

So Daehyun sits and waits. He seats himself awkwardly on a floral couch probably from the last century. The room screams dated. Everything from the off-white walls to the orange shag carpeting is from a different era and they all clash together in a collage of grandma-esque aesthetics that make Daehyun’s head hurt. He opts to staring at a picture frame on the wall. It’s an oval frame containing what looks to be Youngjae and his wife on their wedding day. It’s just your ordinary photoshoot: bright smiles, happy faces, and a clean atmosphere. But it’s those same smiles and happy faces that make Daehyun look twice; they look so exceptionally well together that they could be an advertisement.

 

Youngjae returns shortly with a stack of clothes and directions to a bathroom. It’s not difficult to find in the small house. Daehyun takes the time alone to summarize recent events.

 

  1. He was found unconscious in nothing but a bathrobe on the edge of a private hunting zone carrying unregistered weaponry with limited memory.



 

  1. Police chief offers to house him while the case is investigated and they await medical reports from local hospital.



 

  1. Police chief is fucking weird. And his childhood friend, apparently.



 

Daehyun knows he really should be thankful for Youngjae swooping in and offering a place to stay. He knows the only reason he hasn’t broken down yet is because of his friendly aura and kindness. The fact that Daehyun has medically diagnosed amnesia plays a big part in the ordeal as well, but it’s all so far out that Daehyun has no control over anything at this point. He really should be filled with boundless gratitude, but all he can do is sit on the closed toilet seat in Youngjae’s tiny bathroom and cry.

 

Daehyun hopes Youngjae isn’t lurking anywhere close by. He tries muffling his sobs into the fabric of that goddamn bathrobe, but he doubts it’s enough to hide them completely. Fat tears roll down his face and he slobbers like an infant. He really should be concerned about the puffiness that’s going to leave his face looking like a blowfish. He really should be concerned about his appearance. But Daehyun doesn’t even think about how he’s going to explain this away until he stands and sees himself in the mirror above the sink.

 

Spoiler: that doesn’t make Daehyun cry any less.

 

Youngjae comes to check on him eventually. Daehyun suspects his nose blowing had been too loud. He curses the facial feature.

 

“Dae, are you okay in there?” Youngjae calls from the other side of the door. Daehyun quickly pulls the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d been given on. He feels weird and uncomfortable. Sitting buck ass naked in a stranger’s bathroom while said stranger cares about your wellbeing almost seems wrong on a sacrilegious level.

 

“I’m fine,” he sniffs.

 

“Can I grab you anything? Like some Tylenol? Maybe Aspirin?”

 

Daehyun shakes his head before realizing Youngjae can’t see him. “No, I’m fine,” he clarifies after a pregnant pause.  

 

“Aright,” Youngjae says softly. “I made some macaroni if you’re hungry.”

 

Daehyun can imagine him leaning against the door, face pulled into a withdrawn expression masking his concern. He can imagine him standing there with a hand on the doorknob and another running through his hair. Daehyun is met with a semi-familiar image. He isn’t sure, but he thinks he remembers something like this happening before. It drifts to him as if through water. He can’t quite grasp it with the way the waves are crashing around him, though, so Daehyun lets go. He wipes his eyes one last time and opens the door.

 

“Yeah, some macaroni would be great.”

 

 


End file.
